


A Closed Circuit

by thesilverarrow



Category: Sparks Nevada Marshal on Mars, The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Feelings, Interspecies Romance, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/thesilverarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You would not be The Red Plains Rider if you did not ride the red plains." After a pause, he added, "I assure you this is a sentiment Spark Nevada shares."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Closed Circuit

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure there's a time when Rebecca Rose Rushmore and Cactoid Jim aren't in the picture, but before Croach starts drinking. If there were, this would happen then.

1

Red lay awake early one morning, trying not to shift around too much. Didn't want to wake Nevada. Sleeping was just about the only time the man wasn't moving.

And, well, she'd promised him that she wouldn't go sneaking out anymore, come morning, now that they were together again. It apparently made him feel like she was trying to get away from him, maybe never wanted to be with him in the first place. She wasn't sure he understood what all her flying away was really about, but she reckoned that was fine. She didn't understand him none too well either, sometimes, but it didn't stop them from loving each other.

It was totally fine. She was still the Red Plains Rider, wasn't she? She rode the plains and was beholden to nobody. It's just that her riding was more of a loop now, predictable in its beginning and ending. And now was its time for beginning again.

"You awake?" she whispered.

"Nope," he said, voice gravelly with sleep, and she could hear the smile in it, too. He drew her closer. It was easier for him to show affection like this, in the dark, under the warm blankets of his bed. 

She reckoned she understood that well enough to close her eyes again and try not to wiggle, at least for a little while longer.

 

2

Sparks had never gotten used to the feel of Marjun skin. It just wasn't right. Which is why it always surprised him when he laid a hand on Croach. Weird and impossible as it sounds, the man being blue and all, he had a tendency to forget Croach was a Marjun.

Until times like this, when he said something so near to how a robit would: "I would not have thought my interest in the matter was unknown to you."

Instead of talking like a normal person: "Of course I'm jealous that you're sleeping with my ex-girlfriend."

Sparks had been doing a ridiculous amount of crowing all morning about his happy home life, and Croach had been in a bad humor about it. He should've been content to brush it off, but he was too damn pleased with himself, so, stupidly, he accused Croach of being jealous.

And Croach was stupid enough to be Croach about it – that is to say, reply like a goldarn AI would – except for in the ways he really, really didn't.

For one, he was letting himself be manhandled, pushed back against the wall of the office. Croach could knock him on his ass anytime if he wanted. And it kind of looked like he wanted to. That was the second puzzling thing: if Sparks hadn't known the Marjun better, he would've sworn he saw something burning in his eyes, but Croach does not burn. Croach does not have secret desires. 

Except…

"If by 'your interest in the matter,' Sparks said, "you mean you're still pining after Red."

"No, Sparks Nevada. I would not describe my feelings for The Red Plains Rider as the human emotion pining."

"But they are feelings?"

"She was intended to be my mate. I have been intimate with her."

Gross, Sparks thought. 

Disgusting but not angering? Still, he spat out:

"Don't make a damn bit of difference what's past."

"My relationship with The Red Plains Rider is not merely in the past."

"You mean to tell me you and my girlfriend—"

"Whether she is what you misdesignate a girlfriend—"

"Dammit, she's is my—"

"She is female, but she is more than your friend, as I understand the human concept."

"Then it's not inaccurate, just not as accurate as it could be."

"I do not wish to argue with you about the illogic of human language. Whether she is your romantic partner or not, she still has a connection to me – as do you."

"What?"

Croach merely stared through him, mouth set and radiating his usual impatient patience.

"Of course," Sparks replied, snorting. "Your onus."

Croach's eyes closed at this, and his hand finally came up and clamped onto Sparks's. That cold, rough hand, alien and not alien. 

Marjun but Croach.

"Please remove your hand from my storthax," he said.

"Your what?"

"It is akin to your sternum."

"Then why didn't you just say sternum?"

Croach only glared at him, so he dropped his hand, unwilling to have it crushed. Or else stay under Croach's any longer.

Croach didn't move from where he stood, or even turn around, when Sparks threw himself back into his desk chair.

He just said, slowly and carefully, "Do you honestly suppose our only point of connection is the onus I bear on behalf of my tribe?"

"Ain't that what you're always telling me?"

"For a species so inclined to indecision and rapid changes of mood, you are curiously unable to comprehend others' variability."

"What, now?"

Now, he turned, and there definitely was something like heat in his look.

"I meant to imply not that I was merely envious of you for copulating with The Red Plains Rider."

"Okay."

"I also meant the opposite."

"You meant you were the opposite of envious? Like, so not envious you're actually glad? I think you're finally learning sarcasm. Sorta. If'n you count contradicting yourself as sarcasm."

"No, the other opposite."

He frowned, confused. "Envious can't have but one opposite."

"Bagropa. Not the opposite of envy. I meant the opposite of you with her."

When he finally caught Croach's meaning, it was a little like when he was shot with that inside-out gun – all the parts of him still there, only in new places. 

"You mean, you're envious of her for getting to…? With me?"

"Yes, I believe that is what I meant."

Croach quickly fled the office, but even with him gone, Sparks couldn't breathe, not even remotely, not after something like that. So he took to Mercury and lit out for the far side of civilization, hoping the two of them were riding in different directions.

 

3

Croach was fairly certain The Red Plains Rider hadn't stumbled upon him by accident. Though not a tracker in the same manner as he, she was more than capable of following someone. It wasn't skill or luck but something in between: she was always aware of her surroundings. More than that, she was somehow always aware of the locations of himself and Sparks Nevada.

But because she feigned ignorance ("Fancy meeting you here, Croach"), he adopted a similar approach, mostly out of curiosity. It had been some months since The Red Plains Rider appeared truly happy to see him. He wondered – wondering being a common occurrence when dealing with most humans, even (correction: especially) The Red Plains Rider – what had changed. 

They had both stopped at a familiar outcropping of rocks in the middle of a particularly arid plain, a place often used by knowledgeable travelers to get out of the sun and wind for a time. She was preparing to move on, but not in the direction he had been planning to go. Still, he found himself training his hoversaddle on the path she took.

They rode in silence for seven and a half earth minutes, which is a full minute longer than The Red Plains Rider typically goes without talking when she has something to say. 

Finally, it came, pronounced with manufactured disinterest.

"I don't remember passing you on the trail," she said.

"That was not a question, but I detect that you intended it to be."

She continued as if she hadn't heard him: "Which means you came from the direction we're going."

"Perhaps that is true."

"Where are you actually headed?"

"I have no specific destination."

Now, she turned from coy curiosity to combat: "Bullhockey."

Croach frowned. "I have no particular assignment from Sparks Nevada."

"Come off it, Croach. I know he sent you to track me."

"Why would Sparks Nevada require my assistance in tracking you?"

Her face contorted in a grimace, and she sighed.

"I don't know. Because it drives him crazy that he don't know where I am, come daylight."

"He is not, as you say, mentally incapacitated, and he has not been inquiring as to your whereabouts. Furthermore, he would not have sent me."

"Well, who else, then?"

"Anyone else."

Her eyes got wide, but she just nodded her head.

"So y'all had a fight."

He shrugged, a gesture he had learned from Sparks Nevada, ironically. Soon after, he made a mental note that The Red Plains Rider was not at all deterred by such attempts at evasion by ambiguity.

And she could elicit a confession with her own simple gesture – in this case, raised eyebrows.

"I must admit," he replied, "I thought you had been tracking me on his behalf."

"Can't nobody find you when you don’t want to be found."

"I did not say I did not want to be found. I merely do not want to be in the presence of Sparks Nevada."

"Oh, I understand that real well. Not today, mind you, but it's a familiar feeling."

It was not familiar to him. He often found Sparks Nevada obstructive or incomprehensible, but he had never desired to physically leave his presence in the way he had that morning.

The Red Plains Rider said, "Please tell me you two weren't fighting about me again."

The issues being complicated, and his tribe being incapable of lying, he merely rode on in silence. 

 

4

When he came home that night a little later than was civilized, there was a tension in the air between him and Red, as though they'd actually had a fight that morning instead of parting peaceably. He reckoned they were just in the habit of eyeing each other sidewise, waiting for the next shoe to drop. Didn't help that he had this stupid…declaration or some such of Croach's still echoing in his ears, raising some slow-burning fire in his blood.

He didn't ask her where she'd been. Didn't really matter, did it? The important thing was she'd come back. That was all he wanted. Let her roam as far as she wants, as long as she wants to roam back to him.

After the loving was over, he lay on his back, heart still hammering against his ribs, unable to stop what came into his mind.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she purred, curling up with her head on his chest.

"It's about you and Croach."

"Nevada," she said with a sigh.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't wanna be asking this any more than you want to be answering it. But I need to."

"Well, spit it out, then."

"It's about the sex stuff."

"Lovely."

"Did you stop because… Alright, there's no polite way to say this. Was it because the parts didn't fit together, or because you two didn't work?"

"A little of both."

"Okay."

"Put it this way: if we'd come to a compromise on the latter, we could've sorted out the former."

"Okay?"

She sat up and fixed her jaw in a frown. "The man just doesn't understand passion."

"You're wrong."

"Maybe so. He's changed these last few months. He's—"

"I'm telling you for a fact, you're wrong."

He was surprised to see her face contort into a grimace. Or maybe not surprised. She's never much bothered to hide that sore place in her heart on account of him that could only be so sore because it had been so soft. Was, probably.

"Don't tell me he's taken up with some Martian yokel?"

"Worse than that."

"How…could it possibly be…worse than that? Don't tell me he gave in to them saloon doors."

"What? No. How would that even…? Look, no saloon doors. No robits of any sort. Or Marjuns."

"Then what?"

"He think he wants…me."

She went rigid for a second, and he was sure she was about to hit him. But instead she started shaking. At first, he thought she was crying, but then he heard the giggling.

"Hallelujah," she squawked.

"Wait, what?"

 

5

The next day, she did set out to track him.

Croach was covering his movements this time, which meant he was probably mortified at having spilled his guts to Nevada. If Martians could be mortified, which they can't, any more than he would ever describe an admittance as spilling his guts. ("I assure you my viscera are intact.") More like he was avoiding the consequences.

But not avoiding too hard. Though his tracks were carefully covered, his hiding spot was obvious, if only to her. That kinda made her heart hurt.

He was sitting behind the waterfall, their waterfall, looking up at the sky when she arrived. He saw her approaching but didn't acknowledge her. Just his way, hoping problems will dry up even if they're tending the way of a flood.

"He ain't mad," she called out.

"I did not assume that he was."

"And he didn't send me. I sent me."

He stared through her.

"I ain't mad, either," she called out. "You know, in case you're wondering."

She expected a retort, some of his nit-picking of her phraseology or logic, but instead, he just said:

"Do you love him?"

"What?"

"Sparks Nevada: Do you love him?"

"Of course I do."

"I would not ask if I knew the answer," he replied. Gloomily, to be honest.

She had so many things she wanted to say, but she had to consider carefully, so she waited to talk until she could come around to where he was. He watched her steps, antennae twitching all the while, belying his always-stoic face. 

"What makes you think I don't love him?" she said.

"You are always running away."

"And just as often I'm running back, don't you forget."

"I have not forgotten."

"That's one thing I liked about being with you, Croach. You never did get twitchy about me being gone so much."

"You would not be The Red Plains Rider if you did not ride the red plains." After a pause, he added, "I assure you this is a sentiment Spark Nevada shares."

"I know that. Then why are you getting all mopey on his behalf?"

"He misses you when you are away."

"Does he?"

"Only when you are gone for a prolonged period of time. He is sad. Then I am sad."

"Two things. One, I ain't gone very long at a time anymore. Two, Martians don't get sad. Well, three things: he's not as sad as you think."

Croach looked at her inquisitively, so she finally sat down beside him. 

"I come in of an evening," she said, "and all he does is talk about you, what the two of you did and what you're going to do, whether it's something important like stopping science aliens from destroying the planet or something dumb like running Felton's drunk brother out of the saloon."

"Still, he is burdened by your absences."

"Is it possible you miss me a little bit yourself, and that's clouding your judgment?"

"It is certainly possible. The better measure is whether it is probable."

"Is it?"

"I do not know how it could be, unless I have been feeling your absence in earnest since the dissolution of our romantic relationship all these months ago. And by your own estimation of my emotional capabilities, that would be unlikely."

She reached out and took his hand, and she was happy to feel his fingers slip through hers. He hadn't forgotten how to be something more than just a Martian. She was just as shocked as ever to find that he was willing to.

"The Red Plains Rider, I am sorry for attempting to come between you and Sparks Nevada."

"Oh, honey, I don't think you could."

"That is indeed reassuring, yet also depressing."

"I suppose this is your roundabout way of admitting you're a little in love with him, too."

"One can only be roundabout in regard to something one does not completely understand. Are your human feelings always this confusing?"

"Pretty much. And what I should've said before was you could come between us, but not to bust us up. You could, you know, stay between us."

Croach was quiet for a moment, not because he didn't understand but because he was thinking. Calculating. Ignoring his calculations and doing what he wanted anyway. Might've named him Croach the Headstrong.

"You are suggesting reciprocal onus among the three of us?"

"I guess I am."

"You would be willing to couple with me again?"

"I always was willing, up until you weren't."

"For that, I am sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just do better this time."

He nodded solemnly, then he frowned. "And you are certain Sparks Nevada would not see this as a threat to your relationship?"

"Not certain about anything, far as that man goes, but like as not, I'm right. Only 'cause it's you."

"I agree that he would likely be willing to share you with me. But it does not matter. Sparks Nevada will not agree to being shared between us."

"That remains to be seen. Now, I'll be real honest. I know he's fond as hell of you, but I'm not exactly sure whether he wants to…you know, do the physical stuff…"

"I am eighty five percent sure he is sexually attracted to me."

"Hot damn. Add on my ninety five percent, and it's a sure thing."

"Apart from your inaccurate methods of calculating percentage, the bigger problem is that Sparks Nevada believes me to be merely under onus to him for my tribe, indifferent to him personally."

"You'll just have to prove him wrong."

 

6

Croach would've preferred to make this gesture at a different time, perhaps in a different venue. Seven of his senses could detect that Sparks Nevada had been drinking for much of the afternoon and was rapidly becoming afflicted with human overhang. 

However, the human native of G'loot Praktaw chronically misdesignated Red was waiting for him outside, prepared, apparently, to serve as a reinforcement to this potentially disastrous assault. As she would likelier be an impediment than an aid, he was determined to succeed on his own.

Sparks Nevada was sitting with his feet up on the desk, his hat pulled down over his face to block out the illumination from the lights overhead. 

Croach stood there for 17 seconds, unacknowledged, and then finally said, "Marshal station, dim the lights."

He had not been sure of whether Sparks Nevada was aware of his presence, not until the man replied:

"Marshal station, leave 'em where they are. I ain't sleeping, Croach."

"But you have an ache of the head."

"Indeed I do. In fact, I'd be under onus to you if you wouldn't talk so loud."

He did not correct Sparks Nevada on his misapplication of the concept of onus. This restraint was apparently unprecedented, as Sparks Nevada pushed his hat back off his face and squinted at him quizzically.

"You feeling alright, Croach?"

"I am well, thank you."

"Good. Because I ain't in any condition to ride off to the inevitable minor boundary dispute up in the hills or deal with any technology aliens what don't have permits for their gadgets."

Indeed he was not. His face was red and lined in ways that showed him to be much older than he was. Still, to Croach, it was a pleasing face. Whether by time or by nature, he could not be sure, but he had grown fond of Spark Nevada's form, even like this, weak and unsure.

"I will disturb you only for especially treacherous plots or confirmed invasions."

"Good," he replied.

Croach wanted to slip out the door, as he did whenever feelings were bound to become a problem, but he steeled himself for the task at hand. 

It took a lot of modulation of his hormones, but he was able to keep his voice calm as he said, "May I be of assistance?"

"Hmm?"

"With your ache of the head."

"How?"

"I could massage your scalp."

Sparks Nevada raised an eyebrow, but he quickly shrugged his shoulders and said, "Worth a try."

Croach had massaged the head of The Red Plains Rider many times and had carefully learned what sort of pressure was appropriate for a human. Sparks Nevada had much less head fur, so it was far easier. 

He was pleased to note that Sparks Nevada did not recoil from his touch. In fact, he made appreciative noises and his heart rate dropped as he relaxed into the experience.

"Sparks Nevada," he said.

"Hmm?"

"Do you believe this action constitutes a repayment of onus?"

"You tell me."

"It does not. Lately, I have found that I frequently undertake actions which do not in any way lessen my tribe's onus to you."

"I'm sure there's a reason you're telling me this, but I'm damned if I know what it is." 

When he did not respond, Sparks Nevada leaned his head back so he could look at him. Instantly, the man's pulse shot up again, and a flush spread over his cheeks. 

Taking that as a positive sign, he asked, "Would you find it, in your words, gross if I were to kiss your mouth?"

Sparks Nevada nodded his head as if to signal that, yes, mouth kissing would be most unpleasant. However, his voice said, "No."

Croach almost bent his head and kissed him just then. But it was an unorthodox position for such activities, from what he had gleaned reading earth stories. Instead, he knelt down beside Sparks Nevada's chair so they would be eye to eye.

Sparks Nevada said, "I'm assuming Red put you up to this?"

"You assume correctly, although I do this of my own free will."

"Of course," he replied, a twinkle in his eye, the sort of twinkle that made Croach begin to believe that human emotions were not entirely unnecessary. It was not unlike the effect of the lilting voice of The Red Plains Rider when she called out his name across a canyon.

This was the fifth most afraid he'd ever been, but he sensed that Sparks Nevada was perhaps more fearful – which was a ridiculous notion if the novels of Rebecca Rose Rushmore were to be believed.

While he was calculating and considering, Sparks Nevada surged forward and kissed him. It was as he remembered from kissing The Red Plains Rider: soft and odd and unaccountably intimate, although in this case there was also the prickle of face fur, and Sparks Nevada had a scent and taste all his own. 

Quickly, Sparks Nevada's hand came up and cradled the back of his head, and he detected that that hand was shaking. So he allowed the human to kiss his mouth as long as he desired, so that he could calm himself. 

That seemed to work well, but it unfortunately had the opposite effect for him. Spark's mouth was wet and warm, and it was no wonder his people did not do this as a matter of course, given how many senses it involved. By the time he pulled away, he found his antennae twitching and his body buzzing with too many reactions to bother quantifying them.

Sparks Nevada did not take his hand away from his neck but rather brought up the other. So they remained with their heads bent together, foreheads touching, sharing breath.

When he could trust his voice, he said, "The Red Plains Rider asked me how many times I have considered doing this very thing."

"Yeah?"

"I confess I have not considered it at all."

"Nice," Sparks Nevada replied, rolling his eyes.

"Because considering a hypothetical action would imply a belief that such a thing was possible. What I should have reported is how many times I thought about it anyway."

"How many?"

"The number is high enough to prohibit precise counting."

"Awesome," Spark Nevada replied with a sly grin, surprising him by bringing their mouths together again.


End file.
